No One Mourns The Wicked
by AnnaOtaku
Summary: One shot. A darker look into the thoughts of the Cullen family and the bonds that are formed between broken beings. Songfic.


They were a family. A family of miscreants, of outcasts. A mosaic made of broken pieces; beautiful, but shattered. The bonds of convenience and desperate love barely holding the delicate shards together.

_No One Mourns The Wicked._

How true these words rang. The members of the Cullen family were wicked, no matter how saintly Bella Swan portrayed them to be. They were monsters, evil, blood-soaked creatures of nightmares, masquerading in the guise of angels.

_No One Mourns The Wicked._

No tears could be spilled, no heart could ache for their lost humanity. They were statues of ice, their only change being their eyes- warning lights for their would-be prey, too much in denial to want to notice.

Those scars could never heal, the bloodlust never satiated. They all had their struggles, too many to truly care for the others', aside from preventing the occasional murder.

Love helped the sorrow a bit. Esme thought of Edward as her son, living for an eternity, making up for the few days her baby had. Rosalie found her lost brother in her charading twin, Jasper, as he found his sister in her. Emmett had come from a large family, so it was like he had almost never died, and an unfamiliar love sprang up between six of the members. The love of finding a soul mate.

_No One Mourns The Wicked._

Rosalie curled into a ball, frost creeping across the planes of her cheeks replacing the tears that longed to fall. The snow whipped at her hair, dampening each perfectly golden strand into a muddy yellow clump. Her spider-leg fingers raked across her bare legs, trying desperately to draw the blood that no longer ran through her veins.

"Did Jasper attack another human?" Edward asked softly, his voice no louder than the whispering wind. She cringed farther into her slump, tearing her nails against her perfect face.

Though she said nothing, her thoughts screamed the answer. _YES!_

"Why do you always get this way when _he_ slips up? You didn't kill that human." His voice dropped to a whisper. "You never do."

Edward crouched in the snow, tracing intricate patterns in the powder with his slender finger.

"Ever heard of twin telepathy? Does wonders on the nerves," she muttered bitterly. He laughed, much to her irritation.

"Don't you need to be biologically related for that to work?" He teased, a genuine smile on his face. What was going on? He didn't like her, she didn't like him. Why was he being nice?

"Because you're my sister," He answered, hearing the question in her head. Boldly, he rested his hand on hers. A fire blazed from under her lashes, but she resisted the urge to rip her hand away. She had to admit, it felt nice.

"Yes, it does."

The snow piled around them, until it buried them completely. But they still sat there, pretending it numbed their pain.

_No One Mourns The Wicked._

The wind tickled the remaining leaves in the tree, threatening to tear them from their branches. Jasper was perched in one of the highest branches, camouflaged behind the veil of gold and red. Red…like his eyes.

He had run pretty far, probably Oregon, or Northern California. Most of the others stopped at the border of Washington.

He heard her as she ascended the oak, sitting delicately on the branch next to his. He turned, refusing to let his mother witness the sign of his sin.

She said nothing, letting him wallow in his guilt, which he was grateful for. He needed it. He needed to feel something but thirst.

The woods was silent, the animals having fled their scent. The only sound was his ragged breathing, trying to steady his screaming impulses.

"Are you okay, honey?" Esme asked, twisting a leaf trough her fingers so cautiously, one would have thought it was made of the most fragile glass.

"Yeah…" He murmured, snapping a twig in half. The sound made her flinch, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize.

"No. No, you're not." She pushed his hair out of his face, revealing the crimson orbs that shifted away, ashamed. He tried to turn away, but her firm hand kept his face towards hers, gold piercing red.

"Why the Hell would I be, Esme? I just killed a girl! That doesn't exactly make my day!" He snapped, pounding his fist against the trunk. The mighty oak shook, threatening to throw the two monsters out.

"I don't know, sweetie. But I have to ask." She whispered, stroking his face lovingly. Even though he was her newest son, she treated with as much maternal care as she did Edward.

"Thanks, Mom. It does help. Even if only a little." He scratched a J into the bark, averting his eyes again. She smiled, adding an E below it.

"I do my best. I wish were more."

_No One Mourns The Wicked._

Jasper was nearby. She could smell him. But he didn't want to talk her. Not right now.

She dipped her feet into the brook, relishing the feeling. It felt so _good_. With unnatural grace, she slid into the streaming water, immersing herself entirely.

"Taking a bath? Or washing your clothes? Maybe both, knowing you," He mused, resting on the bank. She turned her head a fraction, acknowledging his presence.

"Can't a girl lie in a river without needing a reason?" She retorted, giggling a little. He ran a hand through his honey-colored hair, laughing a little.

"Only you, Alice." Carlisle stretched back, grasping at the grass under his head. She grinned, plunging her head under the surface.

The underwater world was beautiful and serene, shades of green and blue swirling around in hazy motions. The fish had all fled as soon as she touched a toe to the water, but the bottom was still teeming with life, of the floral sort. It tickled her skin, framing her head like a green halo.

"So how long are you going to stay under there?" He asked, bemused, from the bank. Though he spoke softly, she heard every word clearly.

"Forever and ever. Until the sun is blotted out from the sky and the oceans catch fire and Hell freezes over." Her tone suddenly turned serious, catching Carlisle off guard.

"Then I guess I'll have to come in there, then." He slid in next to her, his white shirt rippling around him like a banner. She turned away, her sad mood too infectious. She didn't want to spread it to her father.

"You're worried about Jasper, aren't you?" He asked, still audible under the water. She nodded, spiky hair covering her elfin face.

"Don't be. He'll be okay." She nodded again, still looking away.

"That's not the reason you're upset, is it?" Carlisle was much too intuitive for his own good. Alice frowned, flicking a pebble towards the surface.

"There has to be another reason for our existence, Carlisle. There has to be. Murdering isn't a way of life." Her voice was so sad, so full of pain, that Carlisle could have started crying. Alice wasn't the moody one of the family. She never had been.

"I know, sweetie. I know. But for now, we'll do the best we can. It's all we can do."

She smiled sadly. "For now."

And they stayed like that for hours, letting the water wash their sins away.

_No One Mourns The Wicked._

No one mourns the wicked, except the wicked themselves.


End file.
